"infiltrate" poems
Dope, money, and hoes [x9]
[Verse 1: Da$h]
Ain't write it, thought of this when I was drunk driving
Like I had a license, been swerving through the intersect
Just to make the ******* wet, breakfast: yac and cigarettes
Feds about the only threat, spit nasty like my throat is strep
She working at the pyramid, shake her **** for some bucks from Tut
Pharaoh to the marrow, Cleopatra roll my dutch
Dour blunts they double stuffed, got a ***** stupid chopped
Used to squad these faggots' wives, the ******* that I used to pop
Wear the **** I used to cop, respect your elders lil *****
Ain't even of age to drink, I get your ** to buy me liquor
'Linquent **** I live for it, they tryin but might die for it
These drugs got my brain, money got my mind finding fun in crime
******* love my rhymes, to be honest I love their mouth at campuses
Looking for talents just like I'm a college scout
Ask her what she shout, I’m ashin' her on the ******* couch
[Verse 2: Da$h]
Dope, money, and hoes, getting dope money from shows
She sniff her coke then she blow, **** it, I don’t judge it though
Sugar free, no love for sure, just put 'em on Sepulveda
Benefits and bank rolls, all a ***** really want from her
And when she bring it back, call my brother hit the trap
Invested in a couple packs, will probably see a couple stacks from what he talkin
Money hulking like Bruce Banner
Panarama day dreaming, While she downin' my ***** on camera
Life's in action, piping, smashing whatever you call it
Smoke a 'Port and I'm off but they ******* think I lost it
And my dog facing blunts while I feed my pups bath salts
Infiltrate my castle, take your face like it's a mask boss
Pass raw flesh and bone, money long like small intestines
Homes I'm taking breakfast, long as getting checks involved H´z *****
Cause if you ain't know, AraabMuzik
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”
a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being
a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers
imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels
part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on
demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death
in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth
look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,
I do not know
*how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,*
the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
It is said by smell
Impossible be detected
I am here to say they are quite mistaken
For it is as heavy as night blooming jasmine
Overpowering
Intoxicating
The smell of white calla lilies
Heralds the coming of death
Announcing another soul from life taken
Despair indeed has a scent
Lain on a headstone in reverence
The wreath of flowers
Posses a perfume of its own
Depression and loss infiltrate the heart
A cologne that permeates the air
There is I can assure you
A fragrance of despair
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
I remember our garden,
Wild and beautiful.
Flowers snaked out over cracked paths,
Overgrown orchids and unruly dahlias
Crossed calla lilies,
As they protruded through the jungle
Of luscious foliage.
I remember the smell of jasmine.
It hung heavy in the thick summer air,
Heady and delicious. It was the sweetest
Intoxication and my Mother basked in it.
She would sit for hours under
The old mango tree, cigarette
Smoke coiling around her
As she watched the sun steadily
Disappear behind grey islands.
I longed to reach out to her.
To break her trance,
And infiltrate her thoughts.
I wanted to her to take me with her
Into those private moments.
I didn’t understand it then.
I remember the tune she would hum.
Those long, low notes, penetrating
From her soul.
As I put the silverware away, I hum it.
I hum it in memory of my indigo life,
Turned magnolia.
How I long for that mango tree now,
A hundred years old. His strong
Arms stretched around me,
And my own private moments.
Through the double-glazed windows,
I watch my husband gardening
And wonder. Should I bring him a glass of
Ice-cold lemonade, like
The wives on American TV?
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
water flows from your heart to mine
I am set on fire
Many waters cannot quench
this raging desire
I am being consumed
but here i stand,
renewed
you flow from my head to my feet
you drip from my hair past my cheek
soak through my skin and infiltrate my chest
I am set on fire
but it is here that i find rest
In the heart of the waterfall
I dance
motionless
In the heart of the waterfall
i am bathed by your hands
let me soak
in the song of the waterfall
let me sit still in the flames
i won't run at all
let me soak
in the song of the waterfall
i want your heart
i want it all
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
Hi! My name is poetic and I'm poetical,
I shine with the pen and I always get lethal.
Don't be stunned when my poetry's jab
Causes plague and blinds you with a flap!
My speech is rooted in truth
And my words are anchored by oath.
The metaphor speaks for itself
And the simile becomes my wealth.
I am a poet,you don't seem to know it!
I don't think twice,I just blow it!
The poem that you've just read today
Was taken raw from the shelf by the way.
I was a broken puzzle
And now with these words as I addazzle,
I can say poetry brought it all together
And made mild conditions of the weather.
Don't hate,I speak my mind,
And regret after the words are combined
To infiltrate your soul and propagate
A well refined feeling of weight!
Half the words I orchestrate the meaning,
The other half I display with grinning.
What matters is that I planted the seed
And you nurture it well as you read!
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
breathing in the cool night air
floating by without a care
flying by the midnight stars
my destinations never far
feel the pulse with your mind
relax and let go of time
tune in to the frequency
the space between you and me
tune into the midnight pulse
wont you drift away with us
focusing is over rated
third eye infatuated
hack into reality
infiltrate and spread your seed
collect your soul and take a stroll
out into the midnight cold
break free from the chains that bind you
the can hold you down
they know nothing can stop this
no way to bring us down
push away it surfaced again
**** the cages that they put us in
just another day i **** it away
erase the pain and forgive the sin
MIDNIGHT PULSE!
tune into the midnight pulse
wont you come and join our cult
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
I find myself lost in another world,
Daydreaming about being there with you,
What have you done to infiltrate my subconscious?
Just how bad do you want this dream to come true?
I dream of running my fingers through your long red hair,
I take off your glasses and look into you soul through those seductive eyes you possess,
Thinking of delicately kissing those sweet soft lips,
With the tip of my tongue yours I begin to slowly caress.
Our tongues passionately massaging one another,
Eyes now closed just starting to feel the bliss,
I then pull your body even closer,
As I continue to kiss you I now grasp my hands upon your hips.
I can hear you start to breathe even harder,
You smell better than any flower blossoming in the spring,
Your slight moan tells me to move down to kissing your neck,
You soft skin tastes better than anything.
Now pulling your **** body even closer,
I feel your warm ******* pressed against my chest,
I can feel you heart starting to beat faster,
As one both our bodies now wish to possess.
Now I begin to unbutton your blouse to expose your succulent curves,
Kissing you now goes from your neck slowly down to your *******
Holding you in my palm while ******* your *******
Your body gets hot as it begs me to do what is next.
I embrace you and lay you down slowly,
We continue to kiss as we start to undress,
You wrap your legs around me tightly,
My body just can't wait for you to caress.
I can feel how warm and moist you are already,
As we lay naked you massage my hard drive,
I go down to taste your sweet nectar,
Delicately kissing you between your wet thighs.
Your juices taste as sweet as honey,
I savor them and **** them out of your soul,
You whisper that you want me inside you,
Your body takes over and you lose all control.
My head goes in slowly as you let aloud a slight moan,
Your moist lips wrapped tightly around me and pull me inside you tight,
I then sensually bury myself deep within your warm wet body,
We now are together as one lasting all throughout the night.
© P.I. 12/29/2014
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
Sweet, sweet the fields
where the grass grows rich and full
to fill the valley to a spectacular view
That comes and engulfs this mind of mine.
I run freely the course of the wind
twirling in this dance the eternals play
The days, the nights, ever glowing in bounty
to these wild free images that here surround
infiltrate and vitalize each breath taken
thought spoken and dream envisioned.
Here in the belly structures of life
I commit to the song of the bird over head
the fox upon the green and that screeching call
of the majestic wind, that falls and gathers
every scented blossom from the fragrant womb
Of Mother earths grandeur.
Who understands better or partakes of this form
ever born to the senses, drawn to the Soul
These remote desolate places that summon and call
reminding one of the glory, the powers that yield
Here in the Yorkshire Downs,One learns to know.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Apr 2, 2011
Apr 2, 2011 at 6:36 AM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
UNDER YOU EVERYTHING IS
LEGEND FOR YOUR EYES
INFILTRATE HERS
I LOOK BLOWN
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 9:03 AM UTC
i tried to stop your calcium intake so that you would never grow
i wanted you to shrink so that i could keep you in my pocket
and you could gnaw through the fabric and plunge onto my toes.
i would walk you everywhere that i go. you would see all that i see
eventually, you would be so small, you would crawl into my ear
and scratch through my skull.
you could infiltrate my thoughts and penetrate my nervous system.
and then maybe you could feel all that i feel and realise that’s it's you
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
You can feel it as i speak
By the way i write when you read
That it is weird to be in your shoes
To infiltrate your mind, to see the truth
To experience the unique existence of being you.
But it is sort of sad
That with each visit i get mad
And repulsed
By the lack of trust
And the hate we take to tolerate love.
And we love ,but not ourselves
And we explore the void in search for help.
But i say Empathy is a lie
We must depend on each other
For the future to be bright
Fellowship won't be experienced untill you unite with the other.
Words Of Harfouchism.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Slumber is sliding slowly away as wakefulness creeps in
Few hours remain before morning breaks, and I feel his arms around me pulling me back to rest
I feel the warmth of his body and the smell of his skin long before my eyes open to meet the day
I can hear his heart beating its soft steady lullaby against my face on his chest
This amazing man, so loving, so gentle, so kind, yet fiercely protective and loyal; a mixture of perfection
This is what I want, I think to myself, as I start trailing my fingers across his chest
He lets out a low growl in his sleep, his body responding to my touch even in its unconscious state
Does he feel my presence with the same strength that I feel his
Does it permeate his resting mind and infiltrate his dreams
His nakedness next to me is so primal and natural, everything about this feels so right
I study his face, the long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the cut of his jawline, his lips not long removed from my own
I listen to his soft snoring and smile at its familiar cadence, a sound I couldn't imagine being without now
I wonder if he knows; does he know what he is to me
He is air, he is water, he is food, he is sunlight; nourishing my every need
I worry that I am not enough to fulfill all those needs in him, but I will live my life trying
This is what I want, this moment, this peace, laying on his chest, his arms keeping me safe, our bodies lazily intertwined
This is how I want every day of the rest of my life to begin
He starts to stir and his eyes sleepily open taking me in, he pulls me even deeper into his embrace
I melt into him; happy, peaceful, and content in this moment that I never want to end
Yes this is what I want; this man, right now and always
Good morning my love
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Church
A place we call sacred
Though it is far from holy
Plagued by the lying,
Fake, judgmental, deceptive, wannabe,
Overly religious, ignorant, bigot, crazy,
Hypocritical curse upon society known
As Christian
A place said to be filled with love
So sadly love is not the first thing seen
Rather, we feel the ever-watching eye
Looking down because our clothes don’t
Seem as clean, our shoes are not free
From dust, our scars, they bring disgust
But not all who walk these golden
Streets of Christianity bring hate
Some do not raise their head so high
These few who know love
This minority who is actually true
They are the church
Even though these phony haters
Infiltrate the lovers’ ranks
They are not Christian
They are not the church
They’re nothing but arrogant imposters
And close-minded fools
A tree must bear fruit to be a fruit tree
Likewise a Christian must bring forth
Faith and hope and love
They must bear their fruit
Otherwise these Christians
Are not so Christian after all
So remember, the church is this group of
People who love, not the building
Filled who those who destruct
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
If your muggy-grubby hands
Even rise to slap me again
I swear I'll chop them off with my axe.
If your fangly-boniony feet
Get within kicking distance of me,
I swear I'll tear your legs from your hips
And then admire my workmanship.
If your mangy-crazy mind
Tries to infiltrate mine
To deposit some lie
That would change the perception
Of me, myself, and i,
I swear I'll grab a spoon
And scrape, scrape, scrape
Out your brain.
If your hoity-toity attitude
Tries to usurp my solitude
To make me someone I'm not
I swear I'll be completely dispassionate
As I wipe your every iota from this
Particulate Universe.
If I so much as hear you breathe,
I swear I will squeeze
Every
Drop
Of
Air
Left in your lungs.
You think this is too violent even for me?
You'd better believe
I've been pushed to the edge
Of all logical reason
By your every act of treason
And I won't hesitate to
Incapacitate,
Excommunicate
Eradicate,
You from my life.
You'd better beware.
I'm angry and all this I'll do.
I swear.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
These lines experimental but elemental to your mental,
My creativity,
Will never submit to the minimal,
Isotopes subliminal penetrating the simple,
Similes send criminals to infiltrate your biochemicals,
Infected stanzas with stacked syntaxes sickness,
My subconscious semiautomatic and stimulated,
Formulate semblances of Leviathan illuminated,
It's a tragedy my soul's has become a victim of gravity,
Now my temples been raided,
My nirvana's disseminated,
And I've contemplated annihilation of self,
Picturing my end as a senile senior citizen,
With no one by my side,
My mind can't complete a sentiment,
Remembering has become my source of a smile,
But it's making me even more curious to taste the end of this projectile,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome
A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect
The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy
The maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall
The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose
The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose
The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass
The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days
The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie
He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them
And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the seaman's body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the seaman got the rest
The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"
So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Don't let the pain infiltrate and condense into your skin.
Let it be a layer
that will soon fall off
when it is ready.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
little white envelope
sealed with a promise
just like the others
open to find means to a better end
no bitter ends will you let begin
colourful notes meant to read
i love you
words not easily spoken
through clenched teeth
jaws locked
rusted with time
years spent unhinged
uncontrolled
spoiled words spoken between lips
unforgiving winds
their destruction still left to rebuild
tension releases by passing annum
moments spent in silence
make way for healing
and days left to heal with you are unknown
days left are precious
words are simple
beholden to their potential
barriers thin but exist nonetheless
not in contempt
but in habit
detox made easier by bullet holes
ghosts
of past attempts to infiltrate
your kingdom
of fatherhood
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
Is this a power hierarchy?
Does our dueling footwork
Convince us to
Lock into some sort of
Competitive symmetry,
Twisting into your
Mashed potato minefield with
Doo *** , doo dad laden
Dancing shoes?
Gimme your
Electronic sympathy, baby,
Infiltrate the airwaves with
Piercing eye contact and
Tremourous finger tip brushes.
Is my informality coming through?
Have I communicated with
Unlocked elbows and
Megaphone ears that not only
My body but universe
Lives here and in you?
Orient yourself to me,
I task while asking you to
Take off your straight jacket and
Stay a while. Unlock your
Pandora 's box so your
Monsters can meet mine,
Mirrored in different shades of
Shock and shame, operating under
Varied hues of the same name.
Lean into me, let your
Shoulders slender and shimmy to a
Tenderizing touch, the
Objects under your skin collapsing
To the 4/4 timed battle
Between form and perception.
The ingestion of the
Metaphor is the message, and
The tongue regards a tune
Differently than a taste.
Face symmetrical, nostrils work,
The blooming waste of consumption
Centered on the top right corner of
Your cheekbones.
I can't help but grab the
Slight upswing in the tone
Of your voice and spin it around;
Let's swing, darling.
I'd like to take your descriptors
On a date to the dance floor.
How long can we keep this up until meaning has waltzed out the door?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
I feel the tendrils creeping in
Wrapping around my core, my neck
The muscles slowly strengthen, suffocating me
Making my calls so muted they’re virtually nonexistent.
I’m shouting though I can’t breathe,
But no one can hear my screams from the
Deep, dark trenches of the shadowy sea
As unbeknownst creatures emerge,
Leaving their places of sweet asylum
And intruding upon mine,
Yet, I still am stranded here in this place.
I don’t even know where I am,
But the voices of fear and insecurity in my mind,
Tell me what I need to do - when, why, how -
Steadily I hear a crescendo of a piano some distance away,
So far, almost on the outskirts of the complex town inside my mind,
Though I discover the music is waiting just around the bend.
A flats, F sharps – getting louder, louder!
“Stop!” I am screaming now
Or at least I think that’s me.
But the music blocks out my voice
That tender little voice of mine.
Suddenly, as I see a blonde-haired head pop up,
I lose my balance, and I begin to fall
Deep into an abyss, a magical abyss
With walls that close in more and more the farther I drop.
As the yellow light above me slowly dims,
I expect a rope, a ladder, anything,
But there is no one there to save me.
I realize the opening I see is a barrel,
And I am staring directly into its wide-eyed face.
A click tells me that the trigger is ready,
As the melody overtakes me and
I am caught in a whirlwind of music.
Spinning, spinning, everything going round and round
All I can see is the darkness behind my eyelids.
So I cry out loud yet again
But no one comes to my side,
Which doesn’t matter, I guess –
I don’t want my skin to be a bulletproof sheath,
Protecting and preserving my unyielding wall.
I want the demons to infiltrate my soul and strip me of this agony
So that I can finally smile amidst the ocean’s fury
As the tornado destroys my mind
And the tendrils of the music pull me in.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
The cat lies on the table. She is keeping her own council, a philosophical feline. It is mid afternoon, an hour before the possibility of tea and cake. Already the room is retreating from the lamp's light into a dusky gloom. Outside the winter garden lies still, damp and cold and still.
Rain comes. A winter rain, almost snow, spreads itself across the window. Ice-full it is a drum with tiny particles rolling across a taut skin of glass. The cat stirs, turns on his side exposing a tummy of white fur. An old cat this, a silent presence now, hardly a purr on a waiting lap.
Books. Piles of books. A book open to reveal pencilled annotations. Several arrangements of papers paper-clipped together, colourfully highlighted. There's a scholarly journal 'borrowed' with a concert programme marking a ‘required’ read. Telemann and Bach infiltrate an investigation of Jewishness in George Eliot's Daniel Deronda.
A framed photograph stands companionably amongst today's letters and the coloured cards of Christmas to come. There's a red-haired girl, a portrait against old roses., a child in a school-blue dress, freckled with green eyes she is smiling carefully, as though not convinced taking this photo is a good thing.
As darkness encroaches, the stories in this space circle the lamp like moths. They rise from the table, detach themselves from the walls (like bats) and float in their own form. Catching leaves, wish-making in a September wood; the fierce tide pouring across the Lindisfarne causeway; small children picnicking by a cricket field. The recent thrill of Jerusalem. Taverner's Mass –
*Oh Western Wind,
when will thou blow,
the small rain down can rain?
Christ! If my love were in my arms,
and I in my bed again!*
Here in this small suburban room there comes together a past; a life reverberates in a temporary peace, a truce in the long campaign of family, ageing, ****** discomfort, obligation, regret (always regret), passion unspent, books unread, poems still to write. And this waiting for a clear answer yet to come, a promise yet to be fulfilled? All is contained here as the alarm clock's digits move towards 16.30 and it is time for tea and cake. Time to rise from the table and feed the cat.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
The evening is set,
the sun bleeds down the sky,
leaving splotches of stars in its path.
The waltzing flames of the fire
reflect into the beautiful eyes,
solemn like plain dark cocoa powder.
They make a gorgeous mirror,
resembling the placid waters of the lake;
imitating the hopelessness of the sky.
A loud crackle sends tiny ginger lanterns
up, to melt in with the constellations.
We sit in a lovely silence
until the last of the flames ebb away.
Darkness envelops us
the sliver of the moon
can’t possibly infiltrate this night.
Quietly, like the tide pulling back before a tsunami
I get an eerie feeling eyes are watching
I am prey to my own insanity until
I can put the face to the eyes.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 10:56 PM UTC